The man in front of them looked old. Harsh, craggy, grim features, but aged, prematurely perhaps. Something, maybe several something's, had happened to him. Not that it mattered, anyway, they'd shoot him if he tried anything, but it was the natural state of humanity to wonder at other people. These hostage-takers were no different. They'd forced their way into the elegant marble rooms of the city hall, and they'd covered the exits. It was unlikely the two men had really given much thought to the man in front of them, or perhaps they would have wondered why he was unnaturally still and calm in the circumstances. That lack of thought would cost them very dearly.
The man in front of them was not as oblivious as he appeared. In fact, quite the opposite. He was merely waiting for the right opportunity. It came when there was a burst of gunfire from behind the two would-be hostage takers. Obviously either one of the compatriots had been a little over trigger-happy, or somebody had decided to try and fight back. Either worked for the purposes of distraction. As the two men turned, just a little, the one on the right saw a flash of movement. As he turned back around, he noticed the SIG-Sauer P228 which had appeared in their 'hostage's' left hand. It barked three times, and the two hostage takers felt no more.
Van put another bullet into both of the men's foreheads once they had fallen, just to make sure. He turned about to see if the noise had been noticed, but there was nothing. The burst of fire had adequately covered up his killings. Van moved on. For one of the first times since his return, he felt alive. Properly healed, healthy and alive. Van stalked down one of the corridors leading off from the room he had been 'captive' in, pistol held in front of him. His senses scanned about him, for danger or other signs. As Van rounded the corner, he came upon another hostage taker down a passage to the right, facing away from him. The detective didn't break his stride, but walked up behind the man, reached in front of him, drew the man's own knife, and cut his throat. Van caught the body as it fell, and pulled the man back into the shadows at the corner of the room. Not well enough to hide him fully, but enough that a casual glance wouldn't reveal him. Then Van moved on, ever forwards. Somewhere up ahead, the main group of the hostage takers would be lurking in one of the larger council rooms of the building, probably with the majority of the hostages. That was where Van needed to be. He kept on moving.
Three isolated and unaware hostage takers, one burst of pistol fire, several stabbings and perhaps four corridors later, Van reached his destination. He pushed open a door at the end of the corridor to reveal the flight of stairs leading down that he had been looking for. This was one of the fire exit staircases, but it would lead him straight to the most likely location for the kidnappers to be. Van checked his pistol. Three rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber, plus his two spare magazines. Plenty of bullets, should he need them. Van moved into the staircase, closing the door behind him. Now there was no way to go but down.
As Van descended the stairs, he unconsciously reflected on the last time he'd done anything like this. His pre-Loren Cases had been both more and less subtle, normally. He'd gone in, hoping not to fight, and then when he had found a fight, he'd point-blank killed all the bad guys. Sneaking around, picking targets off, this wasn't normally his style. It was more…her. Van suddenly knew why the case had landed on his desk, after this time. Because she wasn't there to take these kinds of job anymore. Sophia was still ill, still injured from his attempt to kill her. And the force had him instead. There was a moment, perhaps, where something like regret crossed Van's mind, a shadow of blame and doubt. And then it was buried under his steely mask of inscrutability, and locked away in the vault of his mind that only he knew the combination to. Van hurried his pace up, reaching the bottom of the stairs in short order. He paused for a time, outside the door, listening in. After a few minutes, Van thought he could position three or four of the hostage takers. That left two or three unaccounted for, but Van knew he couldn't wait to work out if they were in the room and keeping quiet or elsewhere. The 'negotiations', so to speak, inside were hotting up. Van didn't care for the politics, for who he thought was right and who was wrong, but he cared that men with guns were setting the agenda. Van loaded a fresh magazine, stowing the mostly emptied one away in his mag pouch, and then raised his pistol as he kicked open the door.
Even as it flew open, Van was already in the room. His SIG blazed as he swiftly adjusted to the situation as he saw it rather than just heard it. Several hostages were on the floor, covered by one man with an AK. Van targeted him first, popping four choice shots into his chest. The supposed leader was the next to go: as the man raised his pistol in turn, Van hit him twice in the chest, knocking the Hi-Power from his grip and sending the man sprawling onto his back. A burst of automatic fire ripped down from above as a man on one of the higher tiers of the chamber fired his AK, but Van ducked behind one of the benches and scurried along, popping back up to snap off a few shots to keep the shooter in cover. Another hostage taker rounded the corner, but Van was ready for him and sent three shots towards him, the second and third of which connected. Van lay still for a moment, trying to work out who was still standing. He heard movement, and saw under the rows of chairs that another hostage takers was walking to his right. Van slowly reached down and took his last full magazine from its pouch, then reached up, caught the nearly empty ejected magazine, and placed it quietly on the ground next to him. He aimed at the pair of walking feet, and fired half a magazine at them. The man went down, and Van hit him in the head with a few more carefully aimed rounds. That left the man up high on the balcony, and one more somewhere in the building. Van heard a door slam open ahead of him, and a burst of fire raked the area around where he lay hidden. Now he had a rough idea where both of his foes were.
There was a squeal as one of the hostage takers, the one who had just come into the room, pulled up one of the hostages from their prone position on the ground. He pointed his Tokarev at the man, and began shouting about how he was going to kill them if Van didn't surrender, if he didn't stand up right now and surrender, if he wouldn't surrender himself immediately. Van heard him, but barely took any notice. Instead, he picked up his mostly emptied magazine and took it with him, sliding it back into his mag pouch as he crawled around the chairs. It was clear neither of the hostage takers quite knew where he was, and Van watched them as they began trying to cover the exits, the various parts of cover, and the hostages at the same time. This was not going to be difficult.
Van rose up from his concealment, SIG already moving to cover the hostage taker on his level. This man, the one trying to hide behind his hostage, noticed Van, and tried to switch his aim, first aiming at Van, then seeming to waver and prefer aiming at his hostage instead. Van caught him changing between the two, and, moving towards him, hammered two shots into the hostage taker, throwing him off his feet. The man on the balcony above began firing down, but Van continued running, and slammed into the still-standing hostage, knocking both himself and the hostage over. Bullets ripped around the two of them, but none hit. Van, covering the hostage with his body, rolled onto his back and emptied the rest of his magazine up towards the man on the balcony, forcing him to duck back into cover again. Van used the time to load back one of his mostly empty magazines into his pistol. As the hostage taker leaned back out, Van was ready. He fired a quick burst up, caught the man once in the shoulder, and, as Van's pistol locked empty, the detective watched as the injured hostage taker fell from the balcony down onto the same floor. Van ejected the spent magazine, and reached around for his mostly-empty remaining magazine. The man on the ground moved towards his assault rifle, but before he could fully swing round and aim it, Van hit him in the shoulder again, knocking him flat. The hostage taker looked up.
"Who…who the hell are you?" he stammered. Van looked down at him, unflinching.
"I'm Van Helsinki," he said, and fired again.